Have you heard the growling sounds coming out of this woman?
Her name is Amy Chua and she wrote a book called "Anthem of the Tiger Mother"describing her philosophy of child rearing. A Tiger Mother keeps her fangs sharpened at all times in case her child forgets to practice her violin 4 hours a day.
I have don't have enough energy or fur to be a tiger mother. I consider myself to be a "Cricket Mother" because on the infrequent occasions when I wear pantyhose my thighs rub together, making a chirping sound that brings comfort to my children when they hear me coming down the hall.
See if you can classify yourself or your own mother in one of the following categories.
"The Crocodile mother" camouflages herself as a common household object, lying motionless, partially submerged, waiting to pounce on the ungrateful child who doesn't finish his greenbeans.
"The Bat Mother" comes out at night, flitting around doing laundry and watching tivoed episodes of Biggest Loser while eating Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies that she has successfully hidden from the rest of the family.
You can spot a "Dinosaur Mother" a mile away. Her children are the only ones in elementary school without cell phones. Waa waa waa.
A "Marmot Mother" feeds her children only whole grains. Santa Claus puts sesame covered tofu in their Christmas stockings and they have been raised to think "Twinkies" are a synonym for "wedgies". Anyone who admits to eating unorganic has to weave a yard on the family cloth project.
A "Narwhal Mother" never raises her voice because she is always equipped with a motivational tool
A "Panda Mother" is an endangered species who is rarely seen but can be read about in many blogs, (the veracity of which is questionable). This legendary creature looks like Barbie, cooks like Rachael Ray, listens to Rush Limbaugh and NPR, knits underwear for the homeless and her children are all well adjusted models of perfection.
The "Poison Frog Mother" is the one whose kid doesn't like your kid.
The "Anteater Mother" typically wears out a vacuum every ten months. She is rarely seen without Windex in one hand and a Mr. Clean Magic eraser in the other. You could comfortably eat a piece of pie off her bathroom floor, but of course no one is allowed to eat anywhere but at their assigned seat at the gleaming dining room table under the sparkling chandelier.
Do you or your mother fit in any of these classifications?
Or are you in a class by yourself?